


Oh Honey

by mormoriarty



Series: And Then I Read What You Had Written [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, Notes, consulting husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mormoriarty/pseuds/mormoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to one-up Sherlock with a Christmas surprise.</p><p>Takes place after this http://archiveofourown.org/works/682933 ...so probably read that one first! Nothing necessary, but it makes more sense!</p><p>very very short chapters btw</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Ever since Sherlock had surprised him with the Valentine’s Day Flurry of Bright Post-It Notes (and yes, it was capitalized like the true memorable event that it was), John had been determined to plan something big. But cases and confrontations with crazy criminals and more cases had essentially taken that big plan off of his mind.

Now that it was nearing Christmas, John was getting to thinking about it again.

Now, there was no doubt that the thing that would delight his consulting detective the most would be a nice, new, juicy murder case, but…um, John would not promise that.

Maybe he’d continue the theme of leaving notes for him to find. He’d have to somehow make this more interesting for Sherlock though- last time he’d done this, Sherlock had bloody well proposed! How could John one-up that?

 

Clues to his Christmas present? Too predictable, Sherlock would probably figure out where he’d bought it, what it was, and where it was hidden by the second note.

Scavenger hunt? A hassle to organize.

Secret message? Hmm…

Maybe a combination of all three, spanned across the whole month?


	2. December 1: Clue #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B.

John stared at himself in the mirror, scraping off the last of the shaving foam cleanly with his razor. After heading back to the bedroom and getting dressed, he came out into the kitchen to see Sherlock making tea.

“Is that for me?” John asked, pointing to the steaming cup that sat on the counter. Sherlock nodded absentmindedly, humming under his breath, fingers moving rapidly on his other wrist as if tapping on a calculator.   John finished making breakfast. “Have some toast, love.” John brought his own plate over to the table and sat down.

“Working,” Sherlock muttered, still tapping away and trying to grab for the newspaper without disturbing the tapping. It didn’t quite work and John stifled a laugh since he hadn’t the faintest idea what Sherlock was doing. “Yes. Calculating, John.”

John handed Sherlock the paper and Sherlock nodded at him gratefully. John watched Sherlock’s fingers, smiling and eating his toast. They sat in relative silence; John chewing thoughtfully on his breakfast as he read over the headlines while Sherlock scrawled out some numbers.

 

After breakfast, John grabbed his coat, pulling it on. He had been called back to the clinic by Sarah, hoping that John would help out as a temp during the busy flu season. Sherlock walked him to the door, pulling him down for a goodbye kiss.

“Mm, got to go to work. See you at dinner.” John gave him a final peck on the cheek.

 

Sherlock found it a few hours later, a yellow Post-It note stuck to the bottom of his violin case that had a letter cut out from a newspaper.

_B._


	3. December 5: Clue #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E.

John had taken to keeping the Post-It notes in his coat pockets and whatnot so that he’d be ready to put them anywhere he’d like, as long as Sherlock didn’t see him doing it. He was fairly sure Sherlock had assumed that it was him (no signs of a break-in), but what was the fun if he knew it for sure?

 

Today, they had been called down to the Yard to look at some old cold case files. While Sherlock was off ranting about the inadequate forensics analysis that the team (obviously meaning Anderson) had provided, John made some excuse about going to pop off to the loo.

After they had known each other so long, John had observed that Sherlock, after complaining so much, was bound to leave on his own in approximately 5 minutes and now was the perfect opportunity to plant the next clue. Sherlock’s right shoelace had been untied when he’d been in Greg’s office, and after all that arguing, it would probably take him the time until he had walked outside of that office to notice. So putting the note, folded-up, set down close to the floor would probably be noticed, right? Hopefully no one would pick it up first, because then everything would be ruined.

John folded up the note and placed it near the door. It his calculations had been right, Sherlock would see it, he would be the only one who would see it, and he would get the clue. John hung about the corner around Greg’s office after actually going to the loo to wash his hands (Sherlock would be able to smell the hand soap) and waited for Sherlock to come storming out.

It worked.

Sherlock pushed his way out of the room, slamming the door shut on Anderson yelling at him, and he nearly tripped on his untied shoelace (It was a strange sight, to see the graceful man almost trip and have to right himself). He bent down to tie his shoe, close enough to the place where John had estimated for him to spot the small, crumpled piece of bright yellow paper. Sherlock stuffed it into his pocket and John hurried back towards the loo. He pretended he was just walking out from the corridor and nearly ran smack into Sherlock.

“We’re just leaving, John,” Sherlock declared, taking his hand and steering John towards the exit. “Clearly, their incompetence is something that has to be fixed _before_ they call on us.”

 

When they got home, John headed into the kitchen for a beer and Sherlock went to his bedroom. Sherlock smoothed out the note.

 _E_.

What could it mean?


	4. December 7: Clue #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I.

John never knew _when_ Sherlock would find the notes. If he planted them around the flat, there was no telling when Sherlock would stumble upon a certain book, sit on a certain piece of furniture, pick up a certain something. So John generally tried to be out of the flat during the day, in case Sherlock _did_ find one of the notes. John could be a terrible liar, especially under Sherlock’s intense gaze.

 

Sherlock was always caught off guard by the appearance of the bright yellow notes. There was no correlation to the days he would find them, there was no pattern to where they would be, and the letters were not a big clue as to what they would lead to so far. He wouldn’t know what he’d have until the end.

Was it John who had been hiding these? He hoped it was, rather than someone like Moriarty who had been habitually breaking into their flat just to leave them notes.

Sherlock had been updating up a blog entry, _Case Study on Coagulation of Blood After Death_ , with various gruesome pictures, and had picked up the mug that sat next to his laptop, hoping there was some of whatever beverage it had held still in it. No such luck. The tea in it had been drunk, probably by him since the mug had been left here with a dark ring on the inside. John would have at least put it in the sink. Underneath the mug was another yellow note, carefully folded.

Sherlock opened it up.

_I._

 

He debated briefly about asking John about the notes. It would confirm who had been leaving them, after all. But if it was John, there was certainly would’ve been a reason why he’d been leaving them secretively, right? John wouldn’t lie to him without a purpose. John was just picking up groceries; Sherlock could ask him when he came home.

No.

_No, John would’ve told him._

He mustn’t let his curiosity get the better of him.


	5. December 12: Clue #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N.

John had not been feeling well. He’d predictably come down with the flu, probably after treating so many patients at the clinic with it. He’d come home early and just fallen asleep on the sofa watching crap telly, not even bothering to go into the bedroom.

 

Sherlock could hear voices as he walked up the stairs to the flat, still smelling of lab chemicals from a day of doing experiments at Bart’s. Were there people over? No, John would have told him first.

He pushed the door open to see the glow of the telly reflected onto John’s sleeping form, his chest rising and falling slowly. He was home from the clinic early. Tired? Sick? No more work to do?

Sherlock took off his coat and scarf and then went over to John.

“Come on now, John. Into the bedroom with you. You know your back or your shoulder is going to hurt in the morning if you sleep uncomfortably on the sofa,” Sherlock said, gently trying to lift John up by the arms and then proceeding to pull him up into a sitting position.

John scrubbed his hands over his eyes and grumbled. And then sneezed.

“Oh, John. Sick? Of course. What did I tell you about helping out at the clinic?” Sherlock chided him, draping a blanket over his shoulders. “Are you cold?” John mumbled something again, taking Sherlock’s hand in his own. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you something to eat. I’ll be right back, you just sit here.”

 

Tea? No, John should sleep and he wouldn’t be able to easily with a bunch of caffeine in his system. Sherlock opened the fridge. Maybe he could make John some hot milk and then some soup? Sherlock pulled out the carton of milk, and a sticky yellow Post-it note fluttered to the ground. Sherlock picked it up, turning it over.

 _N_.

He folded it up and stuck it in his trouser pocket, pouring some milk out into a mug and microwaving it. He rushed out into the sitting room and pushed the hot beverage into John’s hands along with some digestive biscuits. “Here, love,” he said, pressing a kiss atop John’s head before heading back into the kitchen.

Did they have soup? They definitely did not have the ingredients on hand to make any…maybe he could go downstairs and ask Mrs. Hudson?

 

Sherlock flew down the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson!” he called out. He rapped on her door impatiently. He paused, and then lifted his hand to try again, but then the door opened.

“Sherlock,” she greeted him. “Is everything alright?” She peered at him in a mother-hen sort of way

“Do you have any soup?” Sherlock asked, by way of greeting.

“Soup?”

“Yes, John’s sick and I’m making him soup,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

“Okay. I have some tins somewhere.” Mrs. Hudson left him by the door and went searching in her kitchen pantry. She returned triumphantly with some tins of Chicken Noodle. “This alright, Sherlock?”

“Yes, thank you!” Sherlock said, already running back up the stairs with the newly acquired tins of soup.

 

Once John had eaten (and Sherlock had taken a few sips of the Chicken Noodle as well), Sherlock tucked John into bed after he had taken some medicine. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“It’s nothing.” Sherlock smiled. “You would’ve done the same for me. In fact, you have.”

“Goodnight,” John whispered.

Sherlock kissed him on the cheek, closing the door softly behind him. He pulled out his violin, playing a soft and gentle melody that he hoped would lull John to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops forgot to update yesterday, sorry loves :)


	6. December 15: Clue #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M.

Sherlock had some experiments to do. Nothing too urgent, but it was related to some client’s inquiry. “I’m going to go to the lab, okay? I hate to leave you while you’re sick, but I have an experiment that is time-sensitive. Will you be okay alone for a little while, John?”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” John smiled at Sherlock’s concern for him.

“Mrs. Hudson’s--”

“-downstairs, I know, like she always is.”  John walked over to where Sherlock was at the door and wrapped his arms around him. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

Sherlock laughed, leaning into the hug. “I think the close proximity would do it anyways.”

“Well, take some Vitamin C.”

“Yes, Doctor Watson. And you too. Drink liquids or something.” John wanted to make some comment like _What else would I drink? Gases?_ But Sherlock continued: “Get some rest. I’ll be back soon, John.”

“Bye.”

 

Busy with his experiment, time passed pretty quickly. It wasn’t until his mobile chimed with a text from John and Sherlock had to get up and retrieve it from his coat pocket that he found another note.

_M._

Then he remembered the other one in his trouser pockets back at home. Together, there was…

_B.E.I.N.M._

_In. Be. Me. Bee. Bin. Mine. Mein. Been. Meeb._

Wait, _Meeb_ wasn’t a word.


	7. December 18: Clue #6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E.

John was feeling better, finally.

So before leaving for a pint with Mike, John crumpled a Post-It note and stuck it inside the teapot. If he was right, Sherlock would probably just stay in tonight, play the violin, make himself some tea, and then lie on the sofa until John would come back. This was a perfect opportunity; provided that Sherlock wouldn’t be thinking too intently and pour hot water straight into the teapot without seeing the note (the water would ruin the newspaper ink).

 

John came home to see Sherlock asleep on the sofa. John toed off his shoes and hung his coat up, trying to be quiet. He had just come out of the bedroom and was headed to the bathroom to shower when he noticed Sherlock was standing in front of him. “ _Christ_ , you scared me,” John said, dropping his change of clothes in his surprise.

Sherlock leaned in and sniffed him. “Stella?”

“Yes, nice to see you too,” John chuckled, pulling Sherlock down closer for a kiss. Sherlock melted into it, arms going around John and fingers tangling in his hair. They broke apart moments later, slightly shorter of breath than before. “It’s still pretty early. After I shower, do you want to watch some telly or something?”

Sherlock nodded. “Sure,” he said, helping him pick up the clothes he had dropped. “Don’t take too long, then. I’ll go make us some tea.” John kissed him again, smiling and then heading to the bathroom.

 

Sherlock went into the kitchen, opening the cabinet and pulling out the teapot. He could hear rushing water and John humming softly. He smiled to himself.

Sherlock got out the tea leaves and was spooning some inside, but stopped abruptly when he saw the yellow Post-It sticking out of the little pile of black leaves. He fished it out, tucking it into the pocket of his dressing gown for later.

He finished making the tea, and it was steeping just as John came out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair. Sherlock set two mugs down on the counter and John smiled. “What’s on the telly?” he asked, heading into the sitting room while Sherlock carried over the mugs and the tea.

“ _The Graham Norton Show_ , I think.”

 

The chat show guests filed in and sat down on the couch. Sherlock’s head lay across John’s lap, and John was playing with Sherlock’s curls. John giggled at the celebrity’s ridiculous impression of a Southern accent she had heard while visiting the States.

“That was nothing close,” Sherlock drawled. And John burst into laughter. The accent was spot on and somehow just so unexpected from Sherlock, who seemed so English and posh, and who could apparently sound like a cowboy from an old Western.

“I didn’t know you were so good at accents!” John exclaimed, still laughing.

“I’ve picked up a lot from being in London. And I speak a fair amount of languages as well, so accents are recognizable from experience.”

“Languages? You don’t mean like schoolboy Latin, right?” John joked.

“No, not Latin. It’s a dead language, as they say. No one really speaks it conversationally.” Sherlock was flicking the tag on one of the cushions on the sofa.

“Well, you know it’s certainly not dead in the medical world,” John said, reaching over and stilling Sherlock’s fingers. “And even if it is a dead language, I think it’s kind of beautiful. And it is the root of the Romance languages, like French.”

Sherlock looked up at him. “ _Mon amour pour toi est éternel_.”

It took a few moments for John to process that, trying to recall his brief French lessons in school. When he figured it out, he bent down to give Sherlock a kiss on his forehead. “ _Moi aussi, mon amour_ ,” John whispered, taking Sherlock’s hand and clutching it in his own.

 

Sherlock forgot all about the note until next morning. John was typing on his laptop and had woken Sherlock up a while ago with a sweet kiss, leaving him with a cup of tea on the nightstand.

Sherlock pulled on the dressing gown from where it hung on a hook. The note made a crinkling sound in his pocket, and he took it out.

 _E_.

 

Sherlock recalled the previous letters: _B.E.I.N.M.E._

_Be in me?_

Well, that wasn’t very romantic, was it? Sherlock laughed.

It was probably a word scramble…was there going to be more letters?


	8. December 23: Clue #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E.

They were out for dinner at Angelo’s, complete with two glasses of wine and a candle for the table. It was an average night in the restaurant, neither particularly busy nor empty as it was the day before Christmas Eve. The evening was blissfully free, no cases, nothing dangerous to occupy their time. And while John (or mostly Sherlock) would have once hated the “mind-numbing boredom” of having nothing to do, now that they were together, a nice, peaceful evening could be quite enjoyable.

John ordered ravioli and Sherlock got John to choose for him, so the waiter brought him tagliatelle and some garlic knots. They were having a nice time, easy conversation going with John describing some of the funnier things that hypochondriac patients had “diagnosed” themselves with.

“Mrs. Walker, this kind, elderly lady, kept going on about how her son had shown her how to use a computer. And apparently she looked up some symptoms that she’d been having and just decided that it fit the diagnosis for lung cancer- when all she had was a cold and sore throat!”

Seeing John enjoy himself so much made Sherlock happy, and they laughed together.

Then it was dessert time, and they shared a slice of tiramisu. “You’ve just got a little cream there,” Sherlock said.

“Where?” John asked, rubbing everywhere but where the spot of cream was next to his lip.

“Let me.” Sherlock reached out to swipe up the pastry cream with his finger, licking it off. John laughed.

 

After dessert, John excused himself to the loo. The cheque came minutes later on a covered silver dish. Sherlock picked it up curiously, lifting the lid slowly. A piece of paper with Angelo’s handwriting: _“It’s on me, boys! Have a good evening!”_ Sherlock turned it over.

Stuck to the back was another yellow note.

_E._

John came back from the loo and Sherlock stuffed the note hurriedly into his pocket.

“Ready to go?” John asked. Sherlock nodded, picking up his coat from the back of the chair. “Let’s walk home,” John suggested, taking his hand. The bell above the door rang as they left, and they waved goodbye to Angelo.

 _God_ , London was beautiful at Christmas: shop windows all lit up with strings of fairy lights, yellowy lamplight casting a soft glow over the pavements. John smiled up at him, and Sherlock squeezed his hand. They took their time, and it was quite relaxing to just stroll through the streets without worry, one of them making offhanded comments while the other laughed.

 

“And he said what?” Sherlock asked, chuckling as he took out his keys.

“He said he couldn’t hear her because he’d lost his glasses!” John roared with laughter, leaning onto Sherlock. Sherlock took his hand again, pulling him up the stairs, still smiling.


	9. December 25: Clue #8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Merry Christmas, honey."

Sherlock woke up with John wrapped around him; usually it was the other way around, with John being the smaller “spoon”. But John had left earlier to get a glass of water and had tried to sneak back into bed without waking Sherlock, to no avail. Early morning kisses were some Sherlock’s favourite bits of the day.

It was Christmas.

 John had to tell him about the notes, didn’t he?

Sherlock sprung out of bed suddenly, grabbing his dressing gown from its hook and throwing it on. “John, it’s Christmas!” Sherlock said excitedly, shaking him more awake.

John laughed. “Indeed it is. Give me five minutes to actually wake up, please.”

“Five minutes. But only because today’s Christmas!” Sherlock threw open their bedroom door, and headed to the loo to wash up.

A cartoon bee was drawn on a yellow note stuck to the mirror. _A bee?_

Sherlock plucked it off, washing up and then going into the sitting room just in time to see John come out of the bedroom.

 

Sherlock sat down next to the tree, looking every bit like a young child.

John smiled, reaching behind him and pulling out a small box. He presented it to Sherlock. “Merry Christmas, _honey_.”

Sherlock looked up at him curiously. John never called him that. He shook the question off; tugging off the red bow and pulling open the green box.

A crocheted bee and two tickets to Slovenia. Sherlock looked back at John with confusion, his hand still clutching the soft stuffed bee.

“Oh dear. I thought you’d make the connection with all of the yellownotes.” John laughed. “Remember when you told me about how you’d like to get out of London one day and settle down. And you'd study bees and write a book about them because you said that they were ‘absolute beautiful marvels of nature’?”

John had remembered?

But John continued: “I don’t know when we’ll settle down, or where, but I thought maybe you could start studying up on bees now...Those tickets to Slovenia are for the Apicultural Museum in Radovljica, which has one of the most extensive collections of beehive panels in the world and is all about the history of beekeeping. There are two tickets, but if you’d rather go alone or take someone else, that’s okay—”

“Don’t be silly, John,” Sherlock interrupted, throwing his arms around him. “Of course we’ll go together. I love it. Thank you.” He pulled John closer to kiss him. “You remembered,” he added softly.

“Of course I did.” John said, smiling. “How could I ever forget anything about you, Sherlock, you gorgeous, brilliant man?” He kissed him again. “And you are mine.”

That’s what the notes had spelled out.

 _BEE MINE._ With a little cartoon bee.

 

“Merry Christmas, my love,” Sherlock whispered, kissing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have stuck around, thank you very much! I hope you like how it ends.  
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! I love you all :)
> 
> the stuffed bee: http://img0.etsystatic.com/000/0/6274302/il_fullxfull.342093316.jpg?ref=l2  
> apicultural museum: http://www.slovenia.info/en/muzej/Apicultural-Museum-Radovljica.htm?muzej=10115&lng=2


End file.
